Yorkshire Tea Room
by Onesimus42
Summary: Downton 1922 and some of the staff feel the need to retire.
1. The beginning

_**I hesitated to post this now because I plan on concentrating primarily on finishing St. George's Day, but I felt the need for some fluff to counteract the angst. 'A spoonful of sugar to make the medicine down'. **_

_**Disclaimer: Not owned by me. Earn nothing from them.**_

**Downton Abbey 1922**

Mr. Carson walked wearily toward Mrs. Hughes's parlor. This issue was certainly not one he wanted to discuss again, but unfortunately they would have to deal with it. It saddened his heart that someone could not just continue to do what they loved for as long as they wished to do it. Her door was half open, but he still tapped lightly against the door frame. Her smile made his heart jump, and he entered gladly even though his mission was a dismal one.

"Mrs. Hughes, I fear there is a matter we must discuss," he began hesitantly and glanced back at the door.

She caught his glance and crossed to close the door behind him. She pressed her forehead to the door for a moment and then straightened as though gathering her strength. "You've noticed as well, then."

He nodded slowly, marveling at how easily she read his mind, "There have been many signs. I admit to willfully ignoring them at first, but now it is becoming increasingly obvious that something must be done."

She nodded briskly and met his eyes for a brief moment before looking toward the table by her settee. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Carson? We can have a small glass of whiskey. I've some on the table over there."

His eyes followed her gaze to see two glasses and a decanter on the table between the settee and armchair. Crossing to the table, he picked up one of the glasses to twirl it in his hand, catching the firelight. "Would you like me to pour?"

"Please do," she answered with a genuine and broader smile. She crossed to the settee and sat down, nervously fixing her gaze on the fire. He held out the first glass of whiskey to her, but had to brush her arm with the glass to get her attention. Her distraction was worrying him. It was a serious matter surely, and sad, but it shouldn't affect her this deeply. She took the glass from him and took a sip gratefully, still staring into the fire and twirling the glass in her hand. He poured himself a glass as well and sat down in his customary armchair, prepared to wait as long as necessary for her to tell him what had her so preoccupied.

He had nearly finished his whiskey in slow, small sips and was actually beginning to feel quite warm by the fire and almost ready to doze off when she coughed softly. His eyes opened wide, and he turned to look at her immediately. She was ready, and he was prepared to listen.

"It's her eyes, of course," she said, "they're failing again, and she can't keep up with what needs to be done."

He nodded thoughtfully, "As I said, I have noticed. I suppose we need to talk to his Lordship about the specialist again."

"No," she shook her head sadly, "The doctors say that surgery is not an option."

He sighed. This had been his biggest fear. "I suppose she will have to live with her sister."

Mrs. Hughes drew deep breath and stood to her feet, pacing once or twice in front of the settee. "Her sister died last year, Mr. Carson."

"I see," he said in genuine surprise, "Is there anyone…?"

She stopped suddenly but kept her gaze fixed on the floor, "No one."

A tense silence overtook them while they both contemplated what the future could hold for them as well. In a way, it was Charles's greatest fear—that he would live out his last days and die alone or, even worse, that Mrs. Hughes would live and die alone.

He took a deep breath and stood to face her, "Perhaps something could be found here. She couldn't be head cook, of course, but perhaps as an assistant or pastry cook?" His voice trailed off as he saw the look of disbelief on Mrs. Hughes face.

"An assistant to Daisy?" she scoffed, "Not likely, I'd say." She laughed at the thought and after a moment, he joined her. It would be ludicrous to think of Mrs. Patmore taking orders from Daisy. No matter how much the girl had grown over the years, he doubted that Mrs. Patmore could tolerate taking orders from a girl who had once been her scullery maid. There was also truth in the old saying that too many cooks spoiled the soup. The kitchen could only have one cook, and if Mrs. Patmore remained the staff would be confused about whether to take orders from _Mrs. Mason_, as he supposed he'd now have to get used to calling Daisy, or her.

"This is a sad and difficult situation, Mrs. Hughes," he said gravely, stating the unfortunate but obvious fact.

She looked at him steadily for a moment and drew a deep breath, "Indeed it is, Mr. Carson. I had hoped to have this discussion with you later, but perhaps now is the best time."

"Discussion?"

She nodded, "I know that Mrs. Patmore, Beryl, and I have not always gotten along, but recently, I've come to admire her and even love her like a sister."

"Of course," he agreed with a half smile, "I feel the same about both of you."

"You do?" she asked with surprise tinged with disappointment.

He corrected himself quickly. He didn't exactly feel brotherly toward Mrs. Hughes, after all. He was not quite sure how he felt but he was certain it was not how a brother should feel about his sister. "Well, I feel that you are like family at least. The only family I have."

"Thank you for that, Mr. Carson," she said with a genuinely pleased smile. His heart leapt as it always did recently when she really looked at him and shared her smiles with him.

"Um, about Mrs. Patmore," he began to try to turn the conversation and his thoughts back to safer paths.

"Oh, yes, well, as I was saying," she said, giving her head a little shake and twisting her hands together, "Since Beryl is alone in the world now, and I feel responsible for her in a way, I, that is, we have decided to retire together. The last time I was in the village Mrs. Harrelson indicated that she would be interested in selling her business, and I believe we could do quite well running her tea shop." She finished her speech in a rush and was watching him anxiously.

"I'm sorry," he said, confused and trying to catch his breath, "I'm not sure I catch your meaning completely. You mean to leave Downton? Leave m—us?"

She nodded, still watching his eyes carefully, "I really believe it is for the best. I'm not getting any younger either. Beryl won't be completely dependent. With a little bit of help, she could still work in the kitchen. I've already spoken to his Lordship, and he will give us a cottage to live in. That will cut down on expenses significantly."

He regarded her sadly, still inwardly reeling, "Your mind is made up then."

"It is," she agreed and smiled at him, "Don't tell me you'll miss me, Mr. Carson."

Remembering her own words from a time not too long ago when he had thought of leaving, he repeated them to her, "I will, Mrs. Hughes, very much. It costs me nothing to say it."

"Thank you for that, Mr. Carson."

_**Reviews are welcome and appreciated as always.**_


	2. Setting things right

_**Fluff alert. I'm taking a brief break from St. George's Day to write another chapter of Elsie's retirement. **_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own them, never will.**_

Mr. Carson rolled his shoulders uncomfortably and felt the tension tighten in his neck. How could an afternoon that he had anticipated with such eagerness have become so miserable? He scowled at the woman next to him and thought it might have something to do with her. He interrupted her current tirade, "Mrs. Hughes, I am sure you are quite right and the plain crockery is most serviceable for a tea room, but may I ask what image you wish to project?"

She looked at him quizzically before answering, "I don't see what that has to do with anything. We need to have items that can be handled and washed repeatedly without significant risk of breakage."

He grimaced and regrettably let his temper show in his cold tone when he replied, "I have been trying to explain that to you for the last half hour. It was you who asked me to accompany you to help you pick out the items for your new shop. I had thought it was because you valued my opinion but obviously not. Pick whatever you like. I will wait for you outside."

He got up stiffly, unfortunately his right hip was starting to betray him and he had to stand still for a moment. Mrs. Hughes used that opportunity to stand as well after a quick apology to the store manager and intercepted him at the door, "Mr. Carson, wait for just a moment please. I had no intention of giving you the impression that I don't value your opinion. Obviously I do, or I would not have asked you to come with me."

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hughes," he said, still a bit put out, "You've disregarded my every suggestion. Why did you want me to make this trip to York with you?"

She paused for a moment, and he turned back to the door. She stopped him again with a hand on his arm, "Because I have missed you, Mr. Carson. I miss discussing things with you, and I do value your opinion. I am just trying to look at the practical side, and I don't see why it matters what impression we want to make."

"Mrs. Hughes," his face and voice had softened at her admission, "I have missed you as well. I know that you are still in and out what with training the new housekeeper," a shudder ran through him at the thought, "but it is not quite the same. This, all of this, has me out of sorts, I'm afraid." He offered her what he hoped was an apologetic smile.

They glanced over at the shopkeeper who was tapping his fingers impatiently. Mr. Carson sighed, "Do you think we might be able to go to a tea room ourselves to have some refreshment and talk quietly? Maybe I could explain my opinion a little better without an audience."

She nodded in relief and stepped over to the shopkeeper. He seemed put out at first, but then calmed when she obviously reminded him of just how large an order she was planning to place. In a moment she was back at Mr. Carson's side, and it seemed the most natural thing to offer her his arm. He held the door for her, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her through, and for the first time that day he relaxed and felt the knot in his neck loosen.

They found a suitable tea room just down the street and were soon seated with a pot of tea and plate of treats between them. Mr. Carson put a lump of sugar in her cup and two in his own while she poured a little milk in each. She poured the tea while he put a sandwich and piece of shortbread on her plate before choosing his own sandwich and a chocolate biscuit. A lift of her eyebrow told him that she was not to be fooled and he put another biscuit onto his plate with a smile.

After taking his first bite of his sandwich and sipping his tea thoughtfully, he began hesitantly, "Mrs. Hughes, I am not an expert in many things," she started to protest, but he stopped her with an upraised hand, "I am not. What I am an expert in, however, is in presentation. Presentation is in all the little details, the drapery, the fabric of the tablecloth, the china, the flatware." He indicated each of these things as he spoke. "I know that you know these things, but I don't believe that you see the overall effect and how to achieve that effect as I do. You know far more than I do about practical things and so you choose practical things. What I am asking you to consider is what effect you hope to achieve. What type of clientele do you want?"

"Mr. Carson," she began patiently, "we will be the only tea room in the village. I want things to be comfortable and clean, of course, but seeing that people won't have much choice, I can't see that the 'presentation', as you put it, matters very much."

"Is that quite right? Think, Mrs. Hughes, there are far more automobiles now than before," he grimaced at the thought, "There are daytrippers coming out of Ripon, York, and even Manchester to see the country. They would like to have a nice place to find refreshment. I have no doubt that Mrs. Patmore's cooking, if it is at its best, will attract attention. If you also have an atmosphere that is more pleasant than your average tea room, you might attract more business. Families, groups of friends, couples looking for a quiet place to talk…," when he said the last, he caught her eye and his mouth went suddenly dry at the thought that they were a couple who had found a quiet place to talk.

She was quiet for several moments, finishing her sandwich and sipping her tea. He was sure that he'd offended her yet again and mentally kicked himself for being so forthright. When she did speak, she changed the subject.

"Mr. Carson, you didn't seem too pleased when you mentioned the new housekeeper. Is Mrs. Barnes not living up to expectations?"

He was irritated at the thought of the new housekeeper, and it must have showed on his face because she looked troubled. He rushed to reassure her, "She is doing a fine job. Not up to your excellent standards, of course, but she is not lacking in any way."

"But…"

"But we don't seem to match. It isn't that we argue or don't get along," he struggled to find the right words, "You and I have worked together for so long that things are easy, right between us. I never had to suggest what linen should be used with what china but with her… It's like we're dancing and constantly treading on each others' toes."

"Mr. Carson," she said in mock astonishment, "Dancing with the housekeeper! Whatever are you about?"

He barked out a laugh, and she joined him before they remembered the dignified tea room they were in. Casting a glance at the other customers, he didn't see any malicious glares but reined in his amusement all the same. One glance at her face, trying to conceal her own amusement, however, had him chuckling again.

"That is what I have missed, Mrs. Hughes," he said after a few more bouts of chuckling, "she would never make such a remark." He sighed again, "She is just different, and I do not like for things to be different. It feels all wrong, somehow."

She raised her eyebrows at him, "Quite an understatement. I believe you avoid change like the plague. If it were up to you, we'd no doubt still be sending runners to London with messages and riding in carriages."

"Mrs. Hughes," he scolded with a roll of his eyes to show what he thought of her mocking him, "Telegraphs and trains will do nicely, thank you."

She laughed again, and he felt another knot loosen from his neck. After she had finished her tea and while he was sipping his second cup, she looked at him thoughtfully and caught her bottom lip between her bottom teeth, "We need to go back to that shop and see if we can find some prettier crockery. Not china, mind," she cautioned at his smile of triumph, "but something slightly less serviceable, perhaps."

He settled their bill and met her outside the door, offering his arm once again. She took it and said, "There is something else that is wrong, Mr. Carson."

"And what is that, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked, good-naturedly.

"I am no longer the housekeeper and thus am no longer Mrs. Hughes. You will have to find another name to call me. I would prefer Elsie."

His mouth went dry again, and he missed his next step. When he recovered his balance, he met her level gaze. "Then, Elsie, you must call me Charles."

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	3. Paying a visit

_**Even semi-serious writing is beyond me for the moment, so I decided to continue the fun story. I hope to update soon, but I'll be tech-free for a few much needed days of vacation. Hopefully this chapter will make sense since it was written with far too little sleep and far too much caffeine.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. **_

Charles was in a foul mood. He blamed the new housekeeper. She was constantly interrupting his solitude to make trivial conversation. If not for her, he would have probably been content to spend his free afternoon in his office reading and having a cup or two of tea, or possibly not, he admitted. He was curious to see how Elsie's tea room was coming along, after all, and he did have something he would like to ask her. It certainly had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he hadn't seen her in almost two days. Since she and Mrs. Patmore had moved into their own cottage, it had become difficult to have private conversations, and he was missing her more and more. His steps quickened a little at the thought of finding out how she had decided to arrange the tables in the tea room, but he came up short for a moment as his right hip caught. He stood for a moment leaning against a stone fence as he tried to catch his breath and work the stiffness out of his leg. Irritated with the way his own body was betraying him, he almost didn't hear the two high-pitched voices before he was over-run by the hyperactive Bates imps.

William reached him first, "Mr. Carthan, Mr. Carthan, what you doing here?"

"Mum and William and me are going to do 'rands," Gwen joined them breathlessly to explain.

Before he could respond appropriately, William asked, "You do 'rands, Mr. Carthan?"

"I got a boo boo, see." Little Gwen had her skirt hiked up to her chest to show him her leg, so he tried to both avert his eyes and admire her boo boo at the same time while attempting unsuccessfully to get the girl to put her dress down. Thankfully, Mrs. Bates had caught up to them by this time and helped her daughter regain what little modesty she had. Charles noted that Anna looked exhausted. No wonder with her husband at a house party with the Earl, two little ones to care for all alone, and of course, there was the other child due soon enough.

"Mr. Carson, I am sorry. I let them run on ahead, but I didn't think we would see anyone on the way."

"They haven't bothered me in the slightest, Mrs. Bates," he said and offered her his arm, "Are you going to the village? Gwen mentioned that you are going to do 'rands'."

"Yes, I do have some errands to do," she smiled and took his arm gratefully for the continued short walk.

They walked along in silence for a few moments. At least, he and Anna did. The children chattered on non-stop, jumping from one topic to another. Charles was content to listen to them, and he assumed Anna was as well. He was informed by Gwen that they were going to see Aunt Elsie and Aunt Beryl and by William that they had seen a squirrel that morning climbing a tree. He wasn't quite clear as to whether it was the imps climbing the tree or the squirrel but didn't think it really mattered. Once they had overcome their excitement at meeting him on the way, they settled down to look for nuts in the hedgerow along the lane. They walked along in blissful silence for a few more moments until Anna finally asked, "And what takes you to the village, Mr. Carson? Some pressing business for Downton?"

"No," he said, "With the family away there is hardly anything pressing at the moment. My afternoon was not otherwise occupied so I thought I would stroll into the village to see how El-, um, Miss Hughes's tea room is coming along."

Her smile was much too knowing when she said, "I see. Well, as the twins have told you, we will be seeing them ourselves. How do you believe Mrs. Patmore is adjusting?"

"I understand from El-, Miss Hughes that she is doing quite well. With a little bit of help, she can do the baking just fine. Much of it is guided by the sense of touch, apparently. It all seems mysterious to me, but apparently scones, or pie crusts, or even cakes are supposed to feel 'just so'; amazing really."

"It is, isn't it?" Anna agreed.

By this time they'd arrived at the outskirts of the village and Anna released his arm so that she could take each child by the hand. They reached the tea room and were met at the door by Elsie. He almost sighed in relief at the sight of her and stepped quickly to her side. She guided them through the front room to the kitchen where the children were eager to greet Mrs. Patmore, who was in the midst of baking scones and tarts with her assistant's help. Charles could easily see why the children were so eager when she gave them strips of left over pie crusts that had been coated with cinnamon and sugar before being baked to a crisp. Elsie found glasses of milk for them and took them to the office to settle down at a small table. At Elsie's invitation, Anna sat down on the settee to have a quiet chat. Charles excused himself to see how the front room was coming along.

He wandered around the front room and tried to imagine how it would look filled with customers. It was very nearly ready for business with only a last few finishing touches to do. He was certain it would be more than ready to open by the following Monday which was when Elsie and Mrs. Patmore had decided to open. The choice of draperies was perfect, light and airy, and they complimentd the tablecloths very well. He was pleased to see that Elsie had chosen the cloths he had suggested, plain and serviceable with an understated pattern around the edge. Overall, he thought the presentation was pleasant. It looked like a drawing room in a respectable country house. Not like one of the grand houses like Downton, but perhaps like a favorite aunt's or grandmother's home. It struck him that that was a good way to describe it. It looked like home.

He was thinking this and straightening the edge of one of the tablecloths when Elsie surprised him by speaking at his elbow, "What do you think of our 'presentation', Charles?"

His cheeks warmed faintly at hearing the way her voice rolled over the 'r' in his name, and he turned to smile at her, "I was just thinking that it looks very homey, comfortable, and, of course, neat."

"Yes, well," she blushed faintly at the compliment and said conspiratorially, "You mustn't tell a soul, but there was a great deal of cleaning to do to bring it up to my standards."

"I wouldn't doubt it to bring it up to your standards," he teased softly, leaning toward her so that she could hear, then glanced toward the kitchen, "And how is the other half coming along?"

She smiled genuinely at his teasing and followed his gaze, "She is doing surprisingly well actually. There were just a few minor changes to make in the kitchen to make it easier for her, and the girl that is working with her is learning by leaps and bounds. She hardly scolds her more than five times a day now."

Charles laughed and then turned to look around the tea room once more. He was startled to realize that they were not alone. The twins were sitting quietly in the office and watching them speculatively through the open door. A quick scan of the room told him that their mother was gone. He turned to Elsie in alarm, "Anna's forgotten her children."

"Charles," she said through laughter, "she's not forgotten them. I told her we would watch them while she did her errands."

"We?" he asked with a bit of irritation, "What possessed you to volunteer me for the task?"

"You wouldn't have me outnumbered, would you?" she asked with upraised brows, "Poor Anna looked exhausted. I thought it would be easier for her. You can feel free to ignore them if you wish, but they'll be heartbroken. They think you hung the moon, you know."

He scoffed at her attempt to placate him with flattery, "I'll be glad to stay here with you if only to keep you from being overrun by the imps."

"Thank you for your assistance," she smiled up at him, and his heart skipped a beat. Then he heard a voice he recognized clearly raised in anger from the kitchen. Elsie turned to the kitchen with a worried frown and then back to look at the children who were peeking around the edge of the door to watch the kitchen with eager curiosity.

Charles brushed her elbow to get her attention, "Go. I'll look after the imps."

"There's a book on my desk. I bought it as a gift for them. Perhaps you could read," she said the last over her shoulder as she hurried toward the kitchen.

Stepping into the office, he saw that they had finished their glasses of milk and crusts, although Gwen had been kind enough to save one for him and offered it with a shy smile. Taking a napkin, he cleared the milk off of both of their upper lips and brushed crumbs from the front of their clothes.

"Would you like a little story now?" he asked and William nearly bounced with excitement.

"Yes, please, Mr. Carthan," he said, "Tell us about the singers."

"Please, Mr. Carthan," Gwen chipped in, "Please tell us about the hungry boy."

Charles shushed them with a glance back at the kitchen. If he'd known what good memories the imps had, he'd never have told those stories. In an effort to turn their minds to something else, he said, "No, Miss Hughes has a new story for you. Let me see if we can…" he searched her desk, brushing aside a note that he'd written her last week, as his voice trailed off, "Ah, here we are; _**The Tale of Peter Rabbit**_. That sounds much better than the story of a silly boy, doesn't it?"

Neither Gwen nor William seemed convinced, but he sat down on the settee anyway and offered his lap. When they were snuggled against his chest, he opened the book and began, "Once upon a time there were four little rabbits and their names were—"

By the time that Elsie had returned he was engrossed with the story and reading it wide-eyed, both children asleep on his lap. He started at feeling her hand on his shoulder and hissed, "Elsie, this book is not proper. Did you know that Peter loses all his clothes? That's not an appropriate story for a little girl."

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, "Charles, it's a rabbit. Rabbits don't need clothes anyway. They're covered with fur."

"Still, it's just not-, it seems-, it is not proper," he finally insisted weakly, a little uncomfortable now at her obviously increasing amusement. He tossed the offending book to the side table and asked, "What am I to do now that the imps are asleep?"

"Let me take Gwen and perhaps you can settle William down without waking him," she whispered, taking the girl from his arms.

He slid William off his lap and soothed him back to sleep with gentle strokes on his back. They lay both children down on opposite ends of the settee and covered them with a rug. Standing at the door for a moment, Charles watched the children sleep and chewed his lower lip thoughtfully.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Elsie's hand on his elbow. At her indication, he followed her into the front room and answered her questioning look, "I was just thinking that it's not right."

"What is not right?"

He shook his head, "Mr. Bates being the valet, leaving Anna alone with them so much."

"Do you think it would be better if it was the way it was before? No marriage for servants," she asked with a little heat in her voice.

"No," he said a bit too forcefully, and then continued in a softer voice, looking down at the floor, "If two people love each other, then nothing should stop them from being together, having a family. I wish-"

When he met her eyes again, he saw that she was watching him thoughtfully. He cleared his throat and continued, "What I meant to say was that no man should be separated from his family so often."

"It isn't for the best," she sighed, "But there are other fathers that are separated from their families at times."

Charles shook his head again, "Lord and Lady Grantham are traveling nearly all the time now that the young Ladies have moved out. They're hardly ever home and consequently Mr. Bates is always traveling as well."

"That does make it difficult," she agreed and then asked, "Can you think of a suitable solution?"

He shook his head with a grim smile, "Perhaps something will present itself." He paused for a moment and decided now would likely be his best chance to complete his mission. "Elsie, I did come here today for a reason other than boring two children to sleep."

"You did?" she asked softly, if he wasn't mistaken the top of her cheeks was faintly pink, and she suddenly couldn't quite meet his eyes. He cleared his throat and began again, "I had hoped that you would, that is, I thought that perhaps you might allow me to escort you to church on Sunday," then he added almost as an afterthought, "and Mrs. Patmore, of course."

She met his eyes squarely with a hint of amusement and said, "I should be happy to accompany you, but I'm afraid that Beryl must disappoint you."

"Oh?" he asked, curious but not at all disappointed.

She nodded and leaned toward him, lowering her voice conspiratorially. He bent closer so that he could hear her words clearly, "Beryl has a suitor, I believe. Mr. Laughton."

He straightened in surprise, "The head groom?"

She nodded again with a barely contained smile of glee, "He's been by twice this week. They went for a walk on Monday, and he read to her after supper last night."

"Well that is interesting," he said, genuinely pleased for Mrs. Patmore but wondering how Elsie felt about the situation, "Does this mean she will be moving out of the cottage when she's been there barely a week?"

"Charles," she admonished softly, "it's early days yet. They've only met the two times, and just for a walk and sitting together in the garden for a little while. It's hardly a raging romance at the moment."

He nodded in agreement and smiled at the thought of sitting quietly in the garden reading which turned his attention back to that dreadful book, "Elsie, about that book. Surely you can't have read it. I still don't think it is proper reading for a young girl."

She laughed at him again, and he felt his cheeks flush. She must have noticed his discomfort because she said soothingly, "I admit that I only glanced through the book, but I can't see what is improper about a rabbit going without clothes since that is their natural state."

"Then perhaps I should read it to you so you'll know how you've corrupted the minds of the imps," he said and stepped into the office to fetch the book.

A quarter hour later, they were still chuckling over the story and the pictures in the book when Anna returned from her errands looking refreshed. Anna looked at them with a knowing smile, and Charles felt his cheeks flush again when he realized how closely he and Elsie were sitting.

He rose quickly and made his excuses to Elsie, setting a time to meet on Sunday before turning to Anna to offer her his assistance in carrying her packages home.

Once he, Anna, and the imps were safely on their way to the Bates' residence, Anna turned to him with a knowing smile, "Are you happy with how the tea room is coming along, Mr. Carson? That is why you went to the village, isn't it?"

He glared at her for her impudence for a moment before answering, "The tea room is coming along nicely, and before you ask, Miss Hughes and I had a nice visit while the children slept. I can see where your imps get their curiosity," he finished gruffly.

She clicked her tongue at him, and it struck him that she had learned far too much from Elsie, "I didn't say a thing, did I, Mr. Carson? I think it's very kind of you to offer an old spinster some company and taking her to church on Sunday, an act of charity that is."

"Mrs. Bates," he narrowed his eyes at her, "surely you aren't suggesting that Miss Hughes is old, and I do not consider the honor of accompanying her to church on Sunday as an act of charity."

Anna smiled at him genuinely and since they had reached her cottage, took her purchases from his arms, "Then I am very happy for you Mr. Carson; both of you."

With an inward groan, he realized that he'd been outwitted by this slip of a girl. She had learned far too well from Elsie.

_**Reviews are welcome and feed my addiction as always.**_


	4. Walking out

_**Full on fluff alert. This one's for kouw and all the other lovers of fluff out there.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them and earn nothing from them. I even stole Mr. Laughton shamelessly from Batwings, but at least asked her permission first. I hope she thinks I did him justice.**_

Charles grimaced at his reflection in the mirror, and then removed his tie in disgust. Tossing it onto the bed, he picked up his other tie and put it back on. This exercise was getting silly. He only owned three ties outside of his livery after all. Each of them had been knotted around his neck this morning at least once, and each had been rejected. Studying his face in the mirror, he gave himself a firm talking-to. It wasn't as though he'd never walked to church with this woman before. She knew every tie that he owned. Actually, she had even given him the gray one with the subtle blue stripe. When he remembered that, his decision was made. The gray tie went around his neck, and he began to knot it quickly and confidently. When he'd finished, he buttoned his waistcoat and picked up his watch to tuck in his pocket. A quick glance at the time told him that he needed to hurry a bit. He pulled his jacket on and looked around the room one more time with the vague feeling that he was forgetting something. Glancing down, he assured himself that his trousers were indeed buttoned, so that was not what he'd forgotten. Shaking his head at his own silliness, he started down the hall to the stairs. He was already down six steps when he realized what he had forgotten and had to rush back to his room to pick up the slim package from his desk which he tucked into an inner pocket.

As he walked down the path that would lead him closer to the village and Elsie's cottage, he spotted a stocky man walking steadily in the same direction. Speeding up his pace just a little, he over took the head groom and said, "Aaah, Mr. Laughton. I believe we have the same destination."

"We do?" the ruddy-faced man asked gruffly, sizing him up, "Do you intend to walk Beryl to church?"

"No, of course not," Charles said quickly then modified his tone at the sharp look from Mr. Laughton, "Not that Mrs. Patmore, that is Beryl, isn't a perfectly fine woman, but I don't intend to walk with her."

He was rewarded with a knowing smile, "Oh, I see. It's Elsie you're walking out with then."

"Well, I wouldn't say walking out," Charles hedged, "I'm just escorting her to church. It's not as though we haven't walked to church together hundreds of times before."

"Of course not," Mr. Laughton agreed a little too readily for Charles's taste, but when Charles studied him closely, he couldn't detect any trace of amusement.

They walked along in silence for a few moments when the package in Charles's inner pocket started to become uncomfortable so he withdrew it. Mr. Laughton shifted the square box he was holding to his other hand and Charles noticed the lovely wrapping and ribbon. He looked down nervously at his package wrapped in plain brown paper. Clearing his throat, he said, "That's a lovely package Mr. Laughton."

He chuckled, "Well, of course it is. I would only get the best for Beryl," then he glanced at Charles with another small smile, "Since we're likely to be making this journey together often enough, perhaps you should call me Joseph."

"I suppose, then, you should call me Charles," Charles fingered the plain package he was holding and tucked it into his overcoat pocket; "May I ask what is wrapped in that pretty package?"

"Chocolate, of course," Joseph said in surprise, "Isn't that the proper gift to bring? It's too cold for flowers yet."

Charles swallowed again and his lips tightened, "Yes, I suppose it is." He resolved to keep his plain package tucked in his pocket.

They arrived at the cottage, and Charles held back allowing Joseph to knock. Beryl opened the door and greeted him with a genuine smile, "Joseph Laughton, you needn't bust the door down."

"You need to watch your tongue, woman," Joseph responded with an equal amount of amusement, "Charles Carson is here with me."

"Is he?" she asked, "Well, you both should come in out of the cold for a moment. Elsie's not ready yet, of course." The last was said with a hint of irony.

Joseph crossed the threshold and Charles ducked his way through the door after him to greet Beryl warmly. Charles stood uncomfortably rolling his hat in his hands envying Joseph the obvious ease that he felt this morning. The prettily wrapped package was placed carefully in Beryl's hands, and she traced the ribbon appreciatively with her fingers before opening it.

Charles's nose caught the smell of the rich chocolate which only made him a little more queasy; he had barely been able to manage a half piece of toast and cup of tea this morning for breakfast. When Beryl offered him a piece of the chocolate, he politely declined but smiled to see her enjoy a piece herself. Joseph looked genuinely pleased as well. Charles thoughts were that they matched. Joseph was a calm man, older than Charles but still vigorous. He would likely steady Beryl's temper. She seemed to make him happy, and Charles was sure he'd be good for her.

After a few more moments of waiting, Beryl and Joseph decided to leave without them. Charles couldn't say that he was displeased. He was nervy enough without the thought of having to make small talk with them all the way to church. After they left, Charles looked around the cottage curiously. He had been here before, but never had the chance to really examine the room. There had barely been time to admire how Elsie had arranged the figurines he had given her over the years before he heard an upstairs door opening, and he turned to see Elsie coming calmly down the stairs.

She sighed as she reached the bottom step and asked, "They went on without us, then?"

A smile tugged at his lips as he crossed to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. She didn't seem at all unhappy. "Beryl seemed to think you were taking too long."

"If she hadn't made me redo her hair three times to get it just right for Joseph, I would have been ready ages ago," she said, a smile taking the heat from her word, "And I have a secret to tell you."

"A secret?" he asked with a lift of his brows.

"I waited upstairs until I heard them leave," she answered, leaning toward him conspiratorially, "I couldn't face the thought of walking with them to church and having to keep up small talk."

He laughed in relief, "Thank goodness. I was thinking the same thing." Then his stomach betrayed him by growling loudly.

"Did you not have time to eat this morning?" she asked, smiling in surprise.

"Well, um, no," he hedged, "I was feeling a bit queasy."

She looked at him in concern, "If you're not feeling well, you can escort me to church another time."

"No," he answered forcefully, "no, I'm feeling quite well now; just a little hungry and something smells delicious."

"Oh, if that's the case, why don't you have bread and butter while I get my coat and hat? You know where it is."

He crossed to the kitchen and did just that, watching her pin on her hat. She met his eyes in the mirror for a moment and then dropped them before saying quietly, "If the family is still away, perhaps you should join us for luncheon. I've made shepherd's pie."

"You made it?" he asked in surprise, "When you're living with a cook?"

She turned to smile at him, "You needn't act so shocked. Beryl is tired of cooking, and I want to learn. She loves to boss me about. It's perfect really."

Having finished his bread, he crossed to help her with her coat, "Sounds like an excellent partnership then. I would be honored to join you."

He watched her carefully while she buttoned her coat. He was not going to ask her the question that was uppermost in his mind, even if it had been weighing on him for the last four days and was the reason he hadn't slept last night. It wasn't a proper question to ask, and he was just going to keep it to himself. He was resolved.

His resolve failed him as she pulled on her gloves, and he blurted out, "Elsie, are we walking out together?"

She paused for the barest moment and drew on her other glove, "Well, we are going to walk out with each other to church. If that's what you mean."

"It is not, and you know it," he said with a little bit of irritation at her and a lot of irritation at his big mouth.

"Then perhaps you should tell me what you do mean," she said, still looking down at her gloves.

He grimaced as he tried to think of the best way to put this question. She was certainly not making this easy for him. "I mean are we walking out with each other as friends, as more than friends, would do?"

"I do consider you my friend, Charles," she met his eyes now, and he saw that her cheeks were pink. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who found this conversation uncomfortable. She added softly, "My very dear friend."

He cleared his throat and felt his own cheeks heat, "I see. Well, then would you mind if we walked out together? As very dear friends who might wish to be more," he clarified.

"I wouldn't mind in the slightest," she said, meeting his gaze steadily.

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips, "Then perhaps we should walk out together to church."

"Perhaps we should," she answered taking his offered arm.

He glanced down at the small hand on his arm and frowned at the thin glove. He decided that he didn't care how plainly the package was wrapped. Pulling his arm away from hers, he fished in the inner pocket of his coat, "Wait just a moment. I have something for you."

Handing her the package wrapped in plain brown paper, he watched anxiously while she opened it, "I know that it is not a proper gift, but I was in Ripon last week, and I know your hands ache with the cold, and I thought perhaps you might like…"

She gasped in delight when she saw the contents of the package and pulled out the dark, leather, fur-lined gloves, "Charles, these are beautiful. You shouldn't have."

"I certainly should have," he said gruffly, taking her free hand in his and drawing the worn, thin glove off, "It's the proper thing for a man to buy a gift for the woman he's walking out with."

"And if I had said I didn't want to walk out with you?" she asked, as she pulled on the new, warmer gloves, flexing her fingers in pleasure.

He traced the embroidered blue flowers on the back of one of the gloves, "Then I would have just given these to my very dear friend."

"Charles," she whispered hoarsely, "if two people are walking out together, mightn't they kiss on occasion?"

His heart skipped a beat, "I believe they might. Would this be such an occasion?"

She nodded, and he dipped his head to kiss her softly. When she pulled away, he didn't miss the flash of disappointment on her face that matched his.

"That wasn't proper," he said firmly.

"Charles, please don't apologize," she began.

"You misunderstand me," he said, putting his hands on her waist to draw her closer, "I meant that wasn't a proper kiss."

He bent and met her lips properly, attempting to push all his feelings for her into this kiss. Drawing her tight against him, his tongue darted out against her lips and he explored eagerly. Twenty years of wanting and waiting was summed up in a single kiss. When they finally broke breathlessly apart, she swayed on her feet, and he steadied her.

She looked up to meet his eyes, "I believe that I am going to like walking out with you very much, very much indeed."

"I believe that I'm going to like it very much indeed as well," he smiled down at her and leaned forward to kiss her again.

She pulled away after just a moment, not allowing him to deepen the kiss, "We should leave. We're already going to be late."

"We don't have to go," he whispered in his best attempt at temptation, "We could say that I was ill, and you stayed to tend to me."

"Charles Carson," she said, smacking his arm lightly, "Walking out with each other less than five minutes, and you're already trying to corrupt me."

"Did it work?" he asked, smiling at her teasing tone.

"It did not!" she answered, pushing his arms away, "I would never hear the end of it from Beryl. She's going to be gloating as it is. Now, pick up your hat so we can be on our way."

He clicked his tongue at her but bent to pick up his hat, "Already ordering me about, are you?"

When he straightened, he added, "You need to fix your hair and hat, or it won't just be Beryl who'll guess what we've been doing."

She turned back to the mirror and gasped at the sight she made. She pulled her gloves off and reached up to bring some order back to the chaos he'd created. He watched her with a grin that he knew was probably annoyingly smug but couldn't help himself.

When she finished and had pulled her new gloves back onto her hands, he offered her his arm once again.

"Shall we walk out now, Elsie?" he asked.

She nodded firmly and her hand tightened on his arm, "Yes, Charles."

He patted the hand on his arm, "Next time, I'll bring chocolate."

_**Reviews are welcome as always, if your teeth haven't rotted out from the fluff.**_


	5. Doing things properly

_**Thank you so much for your reviews to this point. I hope you enjoy current developments. Astute members of the JC Brigade will notice a little reference to an article this week. I couldn't resist.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them, earn nothing but enjoyment, and plan on returning them. Maybe.**_

Charles ground his teeth. This was really getting to be too much. He wasn't sure if he could take anymore. Then he reminded himself that it wasn't his business, and he likely wouldn't be thanked for butting in. He glanced toward the counter where Elsie was speaking pleasantly to one of her patrons while she counted out his change. She wasn't paying attention in the slightest and neither should he. He turned his attention back to his book and re-read the same page for the third time.

It was his own fault. He should have known better than to spend his free afternoon in the tea room. It had become a habit for him, however, over the past couple of months. On his free afternoons or if the family was away, he would come to the tea room and settle down at his table in the corner to read. When the shop closed, he would help Elsie clean up the front room while Beryl and her assistant set the kitchen to rights. Then there would be a pleasant walk to the cottage and a quiet supper. His cheeks heated as he thought of what Elsie and he usually got up to after supper, and he shut his book with a snap. There would be no more reading today.

He heard the clink of china, and his attention was drawn once more to the scene that had him on edge; the serving girl. It wasn't a question of training. Elsie wouldn't have allowed anyone to work without proper training. The girl just obviously did not retain knowledge and had no skill in serving whatsoever. She had already spilled a spot of tea on one patron's lap and broken one teacup. When she poured, the spout of the teapot clinked against the edge of the cup and grated on Charles's nerves. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Elsie was so preoccupied with seating patrons and settling bills that she didn't have time to deal with the girl's failings. The tea room had taken off well over the last few weeks, and everyone was working overtime to keep it successful. Charles's attention was drawn back to Elsie, and he studied her carefully. She was tired, and he was worried about her. It was good that the tea room was successful, but she needed more help and this girl was not going to be enough. His attention drawn back to the girl in question, he nearly gaped in dismay. This was definitely the last straw. She was pouring from the left! Did she not remember anything Elsie had taught her? He pushed his chair back and crossed the room quickly to relieve her of her teapot.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur for him as he poured tea and served cakes to seemingly half the village and then some. He had been right about the day trippers but at the moment was a little too tired to gloat. Almost before he realized what was happening, Elsie was seeing the last patrons to the door and turning the card in the front window. She turned back to meet his eyes steadily, and he was suddenly very worried about how she might respond to his actions. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he could just get his coat, hat and book and slip out the back door while she was settling with the serving girl. He was not very lucky.

"Mr. Carson," she said, "If you'll just wait a moment while I settle with Molly, I'll be right with you. You can sit in the office if you like."

The office? This conversation was going to be painful. He walked slowly through and prepared himself for a proper dressing down . He paced between the desk and settee for a moment but decided that would look too nervous. Then he sat down on the settee but felt a little too comfortable. It wouldn't do to drift off, after all. Finally he stood to his feet again with every intention of studying the few pictures on the wall. At that moment the door opened a crack, and Elsie slipped in, shutting it behind her. She crossed to him, took his face in both her hands and pulled him down for a long kiss. He was surprised enough to forget to return the kiss for a moment, but then he participated fully and earnestly. When she pulled back, she said, "Dear, sweet man. Thank you."

"You're not angry?" he asked, pulling her a little closer for another kiss. He wasn't going to miss any opportunity to hold her in his arms.

"Of course not," she said, resting her head on his chest, "why would I be angry with you?"

"Well, I was afraid, that is, I wasn't sure that you would appreciate my interfering," he said, lifting his hand to her cheek so that he could tilt her head back and kiss her again.

When he ended the kiss after several long moments, she said, "You don't know how difficult it's been. I can't do everything and poor Molly. She means well, but she's slow."

"Mmmmm, I noticed," he hummed, wanting to do many other things besides talk about Molly right now. He moved his kisses from her lips to the side of her neck and a particularly sensitive spot just behind and below her left ear. It took a couple of tries before he found the right spot, but when he did, she sighed in satisfaction and tilted her head to allow better access.

He had just tightened his hold on her and let his hands drift slowly southward when the door to the office banged open as Joseph said, "Do the two of you want to walk… Oh, I'm sorry. I'll just leave you to…"

Beryl spoke from behind his shoulder, "What are they doing? For heaven's sake Elsie! In the office? You know better."

Elsie had jumped guiltily out of his arms when the door first opened, but her face had gone from being bright red from embarrassment to flushed with anger while Beryl spoke. "You've no room to talk, Beryl Patmore, after what you two were up to in the garden last Thursday. Anyone could have seen you. At least I had the good sense to close the door."

"In the _back_ garden!" Beryl said, her face flushing as well.

Elsie's anger was at full sail now, "In broad daylight!"

Charles was at a loss for what to do and glanced at Joseph who was watching both women with an amused expression on his face, obviously not in the least embarrassed about whatever the back garden activities had been on Thursday. When Joseph met his eyes for a moment, he lifted his brows in question. Charles had no idea what to do in a situation like this. At least Joseph had been married before. Surely he would know what to do.

After another series of heated exchanges, Joseph apparently decided to take his life in his own hands and stepped between the two women, "Beryl, I don't have all night, and I was looking forward to a nice dinner and your delicious apple tart."

She sniffed loudly but smiled in Joseph's direction. The interruption had calmed Elsie just enough for her speak reasonably; "Charles and I will stay here and finish with clearing the dining room to get it ready for Monday. Don't hold dinner for us. We'll just eat something here."

Charles was a little disappointed to miss out on Beryl's apple tart but wisely thought better of saying anything. Time alone with Elsie was worth ten apple tarts as far as he was concerned. He watched Beryl and Joseph leave before turning back to Elsie who had slumped into her office chair.

"Shall we clear the dining room?" he asked hesitantly, rubbing the top of his ear vigorously.

She straightened in her chair and looked at him wryly, "There's very little to be done. Molly did most of the clearing up while you were serving. I just couldn't face another meal with that woman."

She stood and he followed her into the dining room, noting that there was indeed very little to do to prepare it for Monday. One or two table cloths to be changed and a broom applied to the floor would set everything to rights.

He crossed to remove one of the cloths which he took to the laundry bag, "I thought you two were getting along reasonably well. Have you been arguing more?"

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes briefly before answering, "We have been having more arguments, yes. The better we do here, the harder it is at the cottage. We're just far busier than either of us imagined we'd be." As she spoke she pulled a clean tablecloth from the linen cabinet and spread it on the table he'd just cleared.

"But not I," he pointed out, meeting her eyes with a small smile while he straightened the opposite edge of the cloth.

She looked at him sharply and sighed, "Yes, Charles, you were right about that. There seem to be more and more day trippers every Saturday."

He wisely chose not to gloat over being right and instead devoted himself to sweeping the dining room while she carried the few remaining dishes into the kitchen. When he was finished, he glanced once more around the room to assure himself that all was set to rights and stepped into the kitchen to see that Elsie was just finishing the last of the washing up. Her shoulders were slumped in fatigue, and the sight tugged at his heart. Crossing to stand behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her back against his chest. She wiped her hands on a towel before turning around to lean against him.

He placed a kiss on her forehead and said, "At least you've tomorrow to rest."

"But your afternoon off was today," she said and sounded dangerously close to tears, "I'll only see you briefly in the morning when you walk with me to church."

"I had a lovely afternoon off," he lied, "and spent it here with you."

"Liar," she said, laughing as she batted his chest.

He agreed ruefully, "Perhaps I would have preferred to be doing other things but not in different company."

She lifted her head to kiss him for his compliment, and he allowed himself to become distracted once again. His distraction was complete enough that he had to force himself to focus when she began to speak again.

"I don't want to complain, but we're far busier than either of us wished to be," she said, "We're retired for heaven's sake. We should be able to enjoy ourselves."

He nodded thoughtfully; "I thought the point of your argument was that you were both enjoying yourselves too much," then he clarified himself at her questioning look, "here and in the garden."

She batted his chest again but laughed and snuggled closer, "It's the serving. I've tried to train Molly, but she just doesn't get it. Then I get busy with the business of the place. Ordering supplies, taking the payments from customers, talking with customers, all the little things that help us be successful."

"You need someone who is well trained to serve," he observed, nodding. Perhaps this would be the time to mention his meeting with Lord Grantham.

"I do," she said and then teased, "Do you have any spare footmen you'd like to send my way?"

"Not a footman," he began hesitantly, rubbing his thumb over her shoulder blade, "How would you feel about employing a former butler?"

Her hand stopped the slow circles she was making on his chest. "That depends. Does he have good references?"

"The very best," he said seriously, "From his current employer and then there's a housekeeper he used to work with who I believe might be persuaded to give a reference."

Her hand resumed its slow circles, "And just what might he have done to gain this housekeeper's reference?"

"Oh, nothing much," he said, twisting his head so that he could reach her neck, "Walk with her to church a few times, buy her a gift or two, and then there's this spot just behind her left ear…"

His voice trailed off as he nuzzled her neck, and she sighed in pleasure. After a few moments she twisted her neck away from his lips and said laughing, "It doesn't sound as though this housekeeper's to be trusted."

He leaned forward to kiss her again, but she stopped him with a hand on his lips, "Charles, please, tell me plainly what you mean."

Taking one of her hands in his and rubbing his thumb across her knuckles, he said quietly, "I spoke with Lord Grantham a few days ago. The thought occurred to me some time ago that they are at Downton very little and either traveling or in London more and more. They need less of a butler and more of a caretaker here. I think Mr. and Mrs. Bates would do a good job, and it would keep him here with her instead of traveling so much. Lord Grantham offered to settle me in London permanently as the butler there."

She started to protest, but he stilled her with a raised hand, "For many reasons, the most important being you, I would not want to do that. I asked that he allow me to retire and provide me with a cottage here."

"And which cottage will you be having?" she asked looking down at his hand that was still holding hers.

He sighed and rubbed the top of his ear vigorously again, "That is where there is a catch in the plan. It seems there are no cottages in good shape that are available currently," he stole a glance at her eyes to gauge her reaction to his next comment, "Actually, he seemed quite surprised that I would not be sharing your cottage."

She pulled her hand away abruptly and crossed the room to stand by the table, "I hate that."

"You do?" he asked, surprised and unable to keep the devastation from his voice.

"Not that," she said quickly reassuring him, "I wouldn't mind living with you at all. When it's proper of course," she hastened to add.

His cheeks heated at the thought that he wouldn't mind living with her whether it was proper or not. Clearing his throat to dispel those thoughts, he asked, "Then what do you hate?"

"Everyone just assuming that you and I will, will…," she said, gesturing with her hand and too flustered to finish.

"Be married?" he finished for her. At her short nod, he said tightly, "I see. Well, perhaps I should just leave."

"No," she said quickly and came back to his side, lightly touching his arm to calm him, "It's not that I don't want to marry you. Should you choose to ask me, of course," she added quickly, blushing furiously, "It's just that I don't like everyone making assumptions about us. They've all assumed all sorts of things about us; that we've been in love for years, that we'll be married now, probably even that we've been doing all sorts of improper things for years. It makes me want us to just do something completely unexpected like, like, like join the circus or something."

He couldn't stop himself from laughing out loud, "Elsie, for heaven's sake. What do you think I could do in a circus? Walk a tightrope? It would have to be a very big tightrope to hold me."

She laughed as well but then stopped and eyed him speculatively, "I wonder what you would look like in one of those circus costumes."

His mind drifted to the clothes some of those men and women wore, and he found himself imagining Elsie in a tight costume as well. This time it was not just his cheeks that heated, and he missed her next words, forcing her to repeat herself.

"I was saying, Charles Carson," she said, slowly and carefully, "that there are two rooms above the tea room. We use them for storage."

"And you would store your old butler there?" he asked wryly.

She clicked her tongue at him, "That is not what I meant, and you know it."

"Then perhaps you should explain exactly what you mean," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist again to draw her closer.

"I mean," she said, playing with the buttons of his waistcoat, "that you would be welcome to stay there until you decide, that is, we decide to make things proper. If we ever do, of course."

"_If_ we ever do," he said grimly, then continued in a slightly chilly voice, "You are not at all interested in making things proper just now, I take it?"

Her voice was just as chilly when she answered, "I do not recall having been properly asked."

He glared at her for a moment before dropping his arm from around her waist and stepping stiffly backward. He bowed to her formally and then knelt before her, "Elsie Hughes, will you do me the honor of being my proper wife? I am sorry that I do not have a proper ring and this isn't the proper setting, but I was planning to ask you properly later."

The moment that it took for her to lean forward and kiss him before whispering her yes against his lips was by far longer than any year of his life. He returned her kiss eagerly and felt that the pieces of his life were falling properly back into place.

_**Reviews are welcome as always, especially proper ones.**_


	6. Benefits

_**Sorry for the delay. Real life is bothersome. I hope you enjoy this little foray into retired life for Charles**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own them and earn nothing from them but sleepless nights.**_

Charles was anxious to get his possessions upstairs before the day began. To that end, he had what few furnishings that he had purchased with the help of Lord Grantham delivered early in the morning and had brought over the trunk containing his few items of clothing and personal items even earlier. The men would have to take the things up the back stairs, and he didn't want to interfere with Beryl's cooking. He had always been a little afraid of her temper. Now that he was technically her employee, he certainly didn't want to get on her bad side. Elsie likely wouldn't thank him for anything that might interfere with the smooth running of her tea room either.

The first lorry with a wardrobe, a small desk and bedside table had already been unloaded and departed. There was only one other piece of furniture to arrive, and he watched the road anxiously for the arrival of the lorry. He'd never made a purchase like this one before, and he was nervous of it. He would have liked to have Elsie's opinion about it but had realized the impropriety of asking, especially since she had insisted on keeping their engagement secret for a little while. His hand massaged the back of his neck when he thought of that, and he grimaced at the tightening of the knot there. Before his thoughts could drift too far down that path, however, the object of his consternation appeared along with Beryl, Molly, and Sally the kitchen girl.

"Do you have everything settled?" Elsie asked with a warm smile which he returned.

"Almost," he replied hesitantly and not quite able to meet her eyes, "There's just one more piece of furniture to arrive. Aaaah, there's the lorry now I believe."

He stepped forward to direct the men around to the back door. They opened up the back of the lorry and started to bring his last and most important piece of furniture off the back. Charles was unwilling to even look at Elsie but saw Molly's and Sally's eyes pop open and mouths gape when they saw what was being carried inside or rather the size of it. He busied himself with directing the men up the stairs and hurried ahead of them so he could show them just where he wanted it, trying not to think about what anyone might be thinking about it. On his way up, he heard the young girls whispering to each other and Beryl asking, "What? What is it? What are you two girls whispering about?"

He deliberately closed his ears to hearing any further conversation and instead busied himself with where everything should be placed. When they'd finished, he stayed upstairs tidying things for as long as he thought reasonably safe. His dearest wish was that the first patrons would have arrived by the time he went downstairs so that he could avoid the conversation with Elsie that he knew was inevitable. Hopefully, she would see the practicality and not choose to kill him.

When he had delayed as long as possible, he took a little more time straightening his tie and hair in his lone mirror. Over the past two weeks in his new position as waiter and all around handy man to the Tea Room he'd not tried to keep his hair plastered quite as tightly to his head. The result was not entirely unpleasing and Elsie seemed to like it which was the most important thing. Unfortunately, he had one particularly recalcitrant curl that refused to stay in place. He was sorely tempted to get out his Brillocream, but then remembered the look on Elsie's face when she pushed that curl off his forehead after they…. He cleared his throat and smoothed a hand over his waistcoat; it wouldn't do to think of that just now, too distracting. He smiled at his image in the mirror and walked downstairs with a slight spring in his step.

When he came into the kitchen, he was both grateful and vaguely disappointed to see that Elsie was not there. Beryl turned her head in his direction and asked, "Is that you Charles? Elsie wanted me to ask you to check the store room door. It seems a bit loose."

"Yes; of course," he said in relief. That would keep him safely out of Elsie's way for at least a half hour or more. He started toward the store room, but Beryl's voice, filled with amusement, followed him, "Did everything fit up there? Those rooms aren't that large."

He hunched his shoulders against her amusement and decided the best course would be not to answer. Applying himself to working on the door, he did take a bit longer working on the hinge than he normally would. No need to rush things. He believed in doing things thoroughly after all.

When he finished, it was nearly eleven o'clock, and he knew the morning rush would be in full swing. There would be only the occasional lull for the next six hours or so. Tugging on his cuffs and straightening his waistcoat and tie, he stepped through to the dining area and walked over to greet the group of ladies coming through the door. He glanced furtively over his shoulder to seek out Elsie whose shoulders were set in a straight line as she spoke with a gentleman who was settling his bill.

After that one furtive glance, he was able to push her from his mind for the rest of the morning until the lull that always occurred shortly after lunch. There were only two tables still full in the dining area; one with a group of ladies and the other with a young couple. Both groups were lingering over tea to talk and required little other than the occasional refreshing of their pot. Molly came over to where he was standing in the corner to inform him that she was finished with her lunch and ready to watch the front room. He would have gladly remained where he was but couldn't quite form a plan for remaining quickly enough.

As he stepped back into the kitchen to take his lunch of sandwiches and fruit, he was surprised to see that Elsie was not there. His surprise must have shown clearly because Sally said seriously, "She's out back on the bench, sir, said she wanted a bit of fresh air."

He nodded and secured a hearty sandwich, a bottle of stout, and an apple for himself before pushing through the back door. Looking over to the bench, he could tell from her stiff posture that he'd likely not be welcome, but he was afraid if he avoided this discussion any longer, he would lose heart completely. Squaring his own shoulders and taking a deep breath, he walked toward the bench. She didn't look up until he had stood by the bench for a moment and had to resist the urge to shift nervously from foot to foot.

When she finally acknowledged him, it was with a chilly smile. He returned it with the warmest and least nervous one that he could manage. She nodded toward the small area of free bench beside her, and he sat down, balancing his plate on his knee. He took a bite of his sandwich and leaned back beside her. Thankfully, he had just managed to swallow his first bite when she decided to begin the conversation, "Are you all settled then?"

He gulped and said, "Yes, actually, I am. It will be rather nice to not have to return to Downton tonight, even if it is going to be a little strange."

"It was odd," she nodded, "sleeping away from Downton for the first few nights. I was so used to all the noises around me and with just Beryl there it seemed too quiet at first. Of course, she does snore loud enough for ten footmen," she added with a small smile.

He laughed just a little and relaxed which was an enormous mistake, "At least I won't have to face that. It will be nice to sleep in my own bed, though."

"Are you certain you won't get lost in that thing?" she snorted.

He looked at her in indignation, "I'm a large man. I want to be comfortable."

"Charles, for heaven's sake. There's room for several large men in that thing," she retorted.

He took a large bite from his sandwich and took his time chewing and swallowing it. When he finished he started to speak but thought better of it and took another bite of sandwich instead. She merely watched him silently, taking small bites of her own sandwich and waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Finally his mind was calm enough for him to trust himself to speak.

"Elsie, in case you don't remember," he said in a carefully controlled voice, looking down at the intertwined hearts pinned above her left breast fondly, "I am hoping to share that bed with someone in the near future. I would like to have room to maneuver."

Her cheeks turned pleasantly pink and this time it was she who sat speechless for a few moments. "I do know that, Charles, and now thanks to you having that thing delivered in the middle of the day half the village has guessed it and is telling the other half."

"It was not the middle of the day!" he said, "And I rather think that's an exaggeration. I doubt anyone outside of our little group even noticed."

She looked at him in disbelief, "Did you not hear our guests whispering?"

"No, actually, I didn't. I spent most of the morning worried about you." At her sharp look, he clarified, "About what you'd think."

She brushed against his shoulder with her own and said, "I wish you'd thought of that when you bought that bed."

He leaned down dangerously close to her ear and said softly, "Elsie, please believe me. I thought quite a bit of you when I bought that bed."

She blushed again and whispered, "Charles; that is not quite proper just yet."

Frustration crept into his voice, "It might not be, but that is partly because you insist on keeping our engagement secret."

"Not secret," she corrected, "just private."

"Forgive me if I fail to appreciate the distinction," he retorted.

"I thought you understood. Beryl…" she began.

He cut her off with an upraised hand, "I know and I do understand. You don't want Beryl to feel that she is a burden and Joseph is being frustratingly slow. I really do understand why you want to wait, but that doesn't make it any less difficult. I'm not a young man, you know."

"And what does that have to do with anything?" she asked, looking at him sharply.

He smiled a little, "Well, I would like to enjoy the benefits of marriage before I'm too old."

"Benefits?"

With an upward lift of his eyebrows, he took another bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. She folded her arms across her ample chest and fixed her gaze on him, patience obviously rapidly decreasing.

Just when he was sure that she was ready to speak again, he swallowed and leaned toward her again, "The benefits that have to do with that large bed, which I would like to point out is not big enough for several large men. It is only big enough for one large man and one, not large at all, woman."

Her cheeks turned crimson and the flush spread down her neck and over the bit of chest showing above the top of her dress. He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed patiently. She started to take a bite of her sandwich but then threw it down on her plate in disgust. Standing to her feet without a word, she crossed to the back door at nearly a run and was inside before he could gather his thoughts enough to stop her.

He swallowed the bite he'd been chewing, and then threw his own sandwich down. Picking up his bottle of stout, he drank deeply while wishing it was a bottle of scotch instead. No; not scotch. He didn't want anything to do with anything Scotch at the moment. Whiskey would be better he thought while he took another deep drink. Berating himself for the colossal mess he'd made of things, he broke the bread of his sandwich into tiny bits and scattered them for the birds before rising and returning to what he was sure would be a chilly afternoon of work.

After returning his plate and empty bottle to the kitchen, he snatched a piece of lemon cake off a tray to pop into his mouth. Beryl tapped the side of the bowl she was stirring and said with a smile, "Charles, I may not be able to see you, but my hearing is as good as ever. That cake will come out of your wages."

He smiled back at her even though she couldn't see it, "I'll work an extra half-hour tonight to pay for it."

"See that you do," she nodded, "I'm sure Elsie won't mind staying here to supervise."

The smile faded from his lips and he just grunted in response before stepping through to the dining room. He crossed to stand beside of Elsie and asked as coolly as he could manage, "Whom should I attend?"

"That group of women by the window just arrived," she said, "They haven't ordered yet, and women always seem to like you."

He gave her a sharp look and started to move off, but she cleared her throat. When he turned back to her, she asked, "Do you think it would help if you spoke with Joseph?"

Hope surged in his chest, but he merely nodded thoughtfully, "It might."

She smiled shyly and then smoothed the front of her dress down as she turned her smile to the customer who was approaching with bill in hand prepared to pay.

He took the order of the ladies at the table and recommended the lemon cake highly. Then two more groups entered, and he was too busy to be happy about Elsie's question. During the next lull in the business, he was able to stand beside her briefly, "I'll go and speak to him tonight if you'd like."

"No; please don't," she said quickly and her cheeks tinted. She kept her gaze fixed on the patrons sipping their tea and nibbling cakes.

He couldn't keep his face from falling. She must have had second thoughts. "Very well, then. I will wait until the weekend to speak to him."

There was a pause as she greeted new customers and guided them to a table. When she returned, she said, "I hope you won't wait that long."

"Which is it?" he fixed her with a glare, "Do you want me to speak to him as soon as I'm able or put it off?"

He didn't wait for her answer but crossed to the new table and took their order. Once he'd taken it to the kitchen and refreshed the window table's tray of cakes, he returned to stand beside her.

"You misunderstand me," she said quietly, "I was hoping that tonight you would show me your new furniture."

His cheeks heated at the thought of which piece of furniture he would like to show her, but all witty remarks fled from his head, "Oh?"

"Especially one piece of furniture," she said, voice going even softer so that no one else could possibly overhear.

Again, his mind betrayed him and his mouth joined in the rebellion by going suddenly dry. He croaked out, "I see."

"Do you?" she asked wryly, "I would like to decide if I want to share that furniture with you."

It was only years of training as a butler that kept his mouth from gaping and his eyes from popping.

He managed to nod and say, "I would be glad to be of service to you." Then he escaped into the kitchen to retrieve a fresh pot of tea. In a daze, he crossed to the table by the window and exchanged their cold, nearly empty pot for the hot, full one.

When he turned back to Elsie, he couldn't keep his eyes from traveling down her figure. She was turned away from him in profile so that he could admire both the swell of her breasts and the curve of her bottom. He frowned at the thought that this was going to be a very long afternoon.

As though she could sense his eyes on her, she turned back toward him and smiled warmly. He returned her smile and crossed to pause beside her on his way back to the kitchen.

She said, "Perhaps I could be of service to you as well."

Truly puzzled, he asked, "How so?"

"Perhaps you should try out your furniture," she said studying the floor carefully.

Unfortunately, that moment his hands decided to quit functioning properly, and the teapot he'd been holding crashed to the floor. They both bent hurriedly to pick up the pieces and he found his voice again to whisper out hoarsely, "You'll be the death of me woman."

"Hopefully not too soon," she said matter-of-factly, and then continued at his upraised eyebrow, "I'm looking forward to the benefits as well."

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	7. Apple Crumble

_**Continuing right where I left off in the last chapter. Charles continues to be flustered.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not owned by me. Earn nothing from them.**_

What had to be the longest afternoon in the history of time finally passed. Charles had surreptitiously held his pocket watch to his ear at least twice to ensure that it was still ticking. The crowning moment of the afternoon had been when the vicar and his wife had come in about a half hour before closing to order tea. Charles could not keep himself from envisioning what he planned with Elsie later in the evening and nearly botched taking their order. In apology, he brought two large pieces of lemon cake to them courtesy of the house and ignored Elsie's disapproving gaze. When he finally shut the door behind the last of the customers, vicar included, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He was relieved that was until he realized that Elsie was gone. Gone? After her bold suggestion? He had been sure that she would concoct some excuse to remain behind after Beryl and the girls left. Frustrated, he cleared the tea room in record time, barking instructions in Molly's general direction. When they had finished, he stalked into the kitchen carrying a tray laden with the last of the tea things. Beryl smiled as he entered, "Charles, good, I'm glad you're finally done. Come along now, we'll leave the girls to finish the washing up. Mustn't be late."

"Late?" he asked, irritated now as Sally took the tray from his hands and Beryl walked toward the door, "Late for what? If you've forgotten, Beryl, we're retired now. We have nowhere we have to be."

She sniffed, "Well if that's how you feel, then I suppose you don't _have _to be anywhere. Just go up to your rooms and sit alone on that very large furniture thinking about the nice supper that Elsie Hughes just might have rushed to the cottage to finish cooking for you. I'm sure you could make do just as well with bread and cheese."

Mollified somewhat, he held her coat for her and then shrugged into his own. Before they left, he excused himself to fetch a bottle of wine. One bottle out of every case for over twenty-five years had left him with a modest collection of his own. He had taken a bottle with him every night that he ate at the cottage as his contribution, and he had no intention of stopping now.

They started on their way with the bottle in the crook of one of his arms, and Beryl's hand on the other. He walked in grim silence trying to reason out the best way to smuggle Elsie back to his room. Perhaps if he gave Beryl a healthier portion than usual of the wine she would dose off early and then… His schemes were interrupted by Beryl's surprising comment.

"You just remember one thing tonight. The apple crumble is delicious."

"Apple crumble?" he asked with disappointment apparent in his voice, "Why would we have apple crumble instead of apple tart?"

She stopped short, looked up in the general direction of his face, and said fiercely, "If you mention one word about apple tart tonight, Charles Carson, I'll have your guts for garters."

He swallowed and watched her with wide eyes. She didn't sound like she was joking. "Very well. May I know why?"

"Elsie made an apple crumble especially for you tonight. She's been trying to learn how to make a decent pie crust for two weeks," Beryl answered as they resumed walking.

"If she's learned how to make a crust, why are we going to have apple crumble?" He was even more confused now.

Her mouth set in a thin line, "I said trying. I can't tell you how many attempts we've had to toss out. Making a pie crust is a delicate business and apparently beyond her."

"Oh," Charles couldn't think of anything wiser to say, still a little confused about what this had to do with apple crumble.

"She cried," Beryl finally admitted, and Charles's heart ached for Elsie, "sat down at the kitchen table and cried last night because she couldn't make you," here she poked his chest none too gently, "an apple tart. I convinced her that an apple crumble would do just as well."

Charles was relieved to be saved from answering her by their arrival at the cottage. When the door opened he breathed deeply and appreciated the delicious smells from within. Elsie had obviously wanted to make this a special meal, and he was curious about her reasons. Asking her would have to wait, because she hurried them to the table. He was sure that the meal was one of the best he'd ever eaten, but he spent each course distracted by Elsie's hand brushing his when they passed plates and her knee pressed against his under the table. The chicken was delicious. Or had it been mutton? In retrospect, he could never quite remember. The only thing he did remember about the food was the look of shy delight on Elsie's face when he praised her apple crumble. He registered Beryl's approving nod peripherally as well.

When they were finished eating, he was faced with the dilemma again of what to do. He was so filled with nervous energy that he couldn't bring himself to sit quietly so instead he volunteered to do the washing up. All he was hoping for was time alone with Elsie. His mind raced again over several scenarios to get Elsie alone and preferably back to his rooms, but he rejected each one as being silly and far too obvious. As he took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, Beryl complained loudly of a headache and was up the stairs to her room almost before Charles knew that a golden opportunity had presented itself.

He turned to Elsie and smiled in relief. She returned his smile with interest and said, "Are you not going to run some hot water?"

"Hot water?" he asked. Why would he need hot water? Did she want him to take a bath?

She looked at him in patient amusement, "For the washing up."

"Oh, yes, the washing up," he remembered now and looked down at the plate in his hand. He shook his head at his own distraction and turned back to the sink to busy himself. Vaguely, while he concentrated on the task at hand, he heard her behind him clearing the table. Occasionally, she reached around him to drop items into the soapy water in the sink. At those times, he could feel her breasts pressed against his back and her arm against his side. He thankfully didn't break any more crockery, but he did wash a few of the plates at least twice. When she finished clearing the table, she came to stand beside him holding a towel and began to dry the dishes. He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye and nearly dropped the pot he was holding when he realized he could see quite clearly down the valley between her breasts. How had he missed that earlier in the day? Had he missed that earlier in the day? He wasn't entirely sure that she was wearing the same dress and didn't really care because that was an incredibly lovely view; creamy white with just a faint flush of red starting. Wrenching his gaze away from her chest, he met her eyes looking up at him and smiled weakly.

"That's a lovely dress," he said, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded, "It's not the same one you had on earlier, is it?"

She shook her head at him slowly and with a far too knowing look in her eyes. "No; I changed," she said softly, "I wanted to wear something special."

He frowned at her, confusion increasing, "You wanted tonight's meal to be special and your dress to be special. Have I forgotten something?"

"You truly can't imagine why I would want tonight to be special?" she asked, meeting his eyes squarely.

He cleared his throat, "Well, we might, that is, we were, I mean to say, there was mention made of you perhaps, if you would wish, of course, possibly giving me an opinion about my, I mean, our furniture."

She was smiling by the time he'd finished, and he felt, if possible, even more uncomfortable. Then she took a deep breath, and he forgot his discomfort in his fascination at watching her chest rise.

She cleared her throat, calling his attention away from her chest, "Charles, I've been planning this dinner for a while now. We only talked about that particular offer today. Can't you think of anything else special about today?"

He furrowed his brows together in thought, "Your birthday is in January, mine is August, your first day at Downton was in March—rained buckets that day, the anniversary of our first kiss won't be for another three days. No; I truly can't think of anything special about today, other than the prospect of spending it with you, of course."

"Think. If you hadn't retired, what would you have been doing right now?" she asked, dropping the towel and placing her hands on his upper arms.

Think? How could he possibly think when she was standing this close and smelling this good and touching him so gently? He racked his brain trying to think of what he would have been doing and not what he would like to be doing. Then it came to him in a flash, and he put his unfortunately wet hands on her waist to draw her closer. Leaning down next to her ear, he whispered, "Just now I would be sitting in a pub in London, wishing that I was back at Downton with my lovely housekeeper, because today is the day I would have gone to London for the season."

He placed a soft kiss on the spot behind her left ear and then a much less soft one on her lips, parting them with his tongue to explore her mouth. She tasted of apple crumble and just the slightest hint of wine. When he pulled his head back she laid her head on his shoulder with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Took you long enough to figure it out," she grumbled, "Today is 'Charles doesn't go to London Day'. I've been looking forward to it for weeks."

"I'm glad," he said, drawing her tighter against his chest and kissing her again, "London is exciting, but I'd much rather be here with you."

"I'm more exciting than London?" she asked, "High praise indeed."

"Much more exciting than London," he answered, running his hand over her sides, "Especially in this dress."

She placed her hands on his shoulders to pull herself up and placed a kiss on his lips before whispering against them, "I'm glad you like this dress. I thought of you when I bought it."

"In the same way I thought of you when I bought my furniture?" he asked, leaning back against the edge of the sink to keep his balance.

"Possibly," she answered with a nod, holding herself stiffly upright and away from him. He tugged at her waist just enough to throw her off balance and cause her to fall flush against his chest. To his immense satisfaction, her blush deepened, and her breathing quickened.

He was fascinated by how she felt pressed along the length of his body and struggled to remember what they had been talking about. Deciding that it couldn't possibly have been as important as tasting that spot behind her left ear, he leaned forward to nuzzle her neck. He spoke against the moist skin of her neck and felt her shudder against him, "I like your new dresses. Your skin is beautiful and tastes wonderful."

She tilted her head away from him, allowing better access. "Charles, are we too old for this?"

He jerked his head up to look at her in dismay, "Do you think we are?"

"No," she said, "not most of the time at least, but I've never felt quite like this before. I can't stop thinking about you or dreaming about you or imagining you," she paused and her voice dropped to the barest whisper, "I want you."

His dismay lifted and he tilted her chin so that he could look in her eyes, "Then I would think that is proof that we're not too old for this, wouldn't you?"

She pressed her lips to his again and said, "I suppose it is."

They stood encircled in each others' arms for a long time. Charles was enjoying the feel of her dress sliding along her back, especially since he was fairly sure that she was not wearing a corset. Her hands crept under the edges of his rolled up sleeves to brush the hair on the back of his arms, and he shivered in delight. Their kisses grew gradually more heated and his hands stroking her back started to stray toward her chest. Finally, he felt that he couldn't stand any more contact, and he released her abruptly.

"Elsie, unless you really do want to help me try out my new furniture then we need to stop," he said hoarsely, watching her in anticipation.

She shook her head, and his heart sank. This day was turning out to be extraordinarily frustrating. Maybe it would be best if he went back to his rooms alone with a large glass or two of whiskey.

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment as she watched the floor then seemed to come to a decision, looking up to meet his eyes, "We'll have two beds to decide between. Perhaps we could try mine tonight and yours tomorrow."

His hands went back to her waist, and he stepped forward to meet her lips. He punctuated his next words with quick kisses as he backed her toward the stairs, "That sounds like an excellent idea, but what about Beryl?"

"You'll be gone before morning, and an earthquake wouldn't wake Beryl," she answered, now on the first step and able to look him directly in the eye. Her hand stretched up to unravel his tie and work loose the button of his collar.

He couldn't help chuckling, "I'm a large man. What makes you think the earth won't quake?"

She laughed, pressing her forehead to his shoulder before grasping his hand to tug him up the stairs, "Come up and make the earth quake for me then."

_**Reviews are welcome. An M-rated supplemental will follow shortly. This fic will stay firmly in the T range.**_


	8. The Aftermath

_**Continuing on from the end of the supplemental chapter. If you didn't read that, your imagination can fill in the details. **_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I think a 'Three's Company'-type spin-off would be perfect.**_

Charles was having the most wonderful dream and pressed his face closer into his new pillow so that it would continue. Vaguely, he wondered how he had gotten such a pillow; it was just the right mix of firm and soft and smelled deliciously like Elsie. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut against the sunlight that was trying to wake him and struggled to hold on to his dream in vain. Then suddenly the Elsie of his dream started to call his name urgently, and he felt himself being shaken.

"Charles, Charles," she was saying, "You have to wake up! It's daylight. You need to leave now before Beryl wakes up."

What was she going on about? Why did he need to leave his own home? And why would Beryl be there? Then he woke with a start and sat up straight. He wasn't at home. He wasn't even in his new rooms above the tea shop. He was in Elsie's bedroom, and it was now morning. There would be little to no chance of his making his way back to the tea room without being spotted by someone. Turning around to look at Elsie in panic, he saw that she was sitting upright as well and had let the sheet pool at her waist. His eyes were drawn to her breasts, and he decided there was really no rush to get away after all. Reaching for her waist, he was disappointed when she twisted away from him and jumped out of the bed. He was not disappointed, however, by the fact that she left the sheet behind. Watching her with growing interest, he almost groaned when she bent over to scoop his clothes off the floor.

In a voice equally thick with sleep and desire, he asked, "What time is it?"

He was answered with his shirt thrown in his face quickly followed by his trousers.

"Elsie!" he admonished, pulling the shirt and trousers away from his eyes, "Answer me. What time is it?"

She turned to glare at him, breasts bouncing, and he lost all thought about time or trousers.

"I have no idea what time it is," she said, "but it's after dawn at least. How on earth could you have fallen asleep?"

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and holding up his hand to catch the underpants she slung at him, he said, "I suppose it might have something to do with being tired. I've not been accustomed to such activity for a long time." Then he added with a significant glance, "I seem to remember someone asking me to stay."

"For just a little while," she hissed, "not until morning."

He snorted and stood to put on his underpants and trousers. His attention was drawn to a thump in the general direction of the door, and he looked over to see that Elsie had let his shoes fall to the floor and her eyes were drawn to his usual morning state. He grinned and cleared his throat to get her attention. When that didn't work, he shifted his hips slightly. Her cheeks reddened and she looked away quickly, first at the floor and then to meet his eyes.

"Does that mean that you'd like to, um, again?"

He barked out a laugh and said, "I think I would always like to um again, but, well, this is typical, especially if I've..." Here it was his turn to break off and blush furiously.

She narrowed her eyes at him and took a swaying step toward the bed, "Especially if you've what?"

He swallowed quickly and let his underpants fall back to the floor, "Especially if I've had a dream."

"A dream about me?" she asked, a smile starting to form.

He met her smiling eyes seriously, "Always."

By this time she'd reached him, and she looked down before trailing the tips of her fingers along the length of his erection. His own member betrayed him by twitching in excitement. He responded to her touch by leaning forward to kiss her, and then she put both hands on his chest and pushed him back on the bed before straddling his thighs, never breaking the kiss. Grasping her hips, he drew her center against him.

"I thought you wanted me to leave," he said when she finally released his lips.

She rubbed herself against him, "We could be quick about it. And quiet."

She leaned forward to kiss him again, but he bent his head so that he could trail kisses down her neck to the spot behind her left ear. He shifted his hands to the front of her thigh and brushed his thumb across her center. She moaned and he felt the vibration against his lips. Just as he was ready to turn his attention to her breasts, a door shut loudly and she jumped off his lap, eyes wide.

"Beryl," she hissed.

The mood broken, he rose in an almost panic himself and groped on the floor for his underpants which he pulled on in record time.

"There's nothing for it," Elsie said, voice muffled as she drew her shift over her head, "you'll have to go out the window."

He had one leg in his trousers and was struggling to get the other one in. He looked up in astonishment, letting his trousers fall to the floor. "The window? That must be at least a fifteen foot drop. Are you trying to kill me before we can even be married?"

"Don't stop getting dressed," she admonished, buttoning her dress, "Of course I'm not trying to kill you; especially after last night. I want you around for a long time." Her eyes trailed down his body. "A very long time."

"That's good," he smiled, reaching down to pull his trousers up and starting to fasten them, "If you want me around for a long time, you're going to have to come up with something better than chucking me out the window."

"I never said I wanted to chuck you out the window," she said, "I expected you to climb out."

He looked at her patiently as he shrugged into his shirt, "Apparently our activities have caused you to take leave of your senses. I didn't know that I was that potent. Have you forgotten how old I am? Or my dodgy hip?"

She fixed him with her most severe housekeeper glare, rendered mildly ineffective by the fact that she had her dress hiked up to her waist as she pulled her stockings up. "I have not taken leave of my senses but have you? Beryl is out there," then she narrowed her eyes at him, "Where's your collar and tie?"

His hand went to his throat, and he looked wildly around the room before groaning and pointing his finger at her, "You, woman, pulled them off on the stairs."

"Oh no," she put her hand to her mouth, "Well, maybe Beryl won't see them. She can only make out large shapes, after all."

"There's our answer," he beamed at her, while she tossed his shoes to him, "I'll just be very quiet. You create a diversion, and I'll sneak out to the back garden. She'll never know."

"Charles," she looked at him, dumbfounded, "She can make out large shapes. You are certainly a large shape."

"Not that large," he said, offended and turning sideways to look in the mirror, holding in his stomach.

He saw the roll of her eyes in the mirror, "I didn't mean that. You're just a large man overall. Somehow, I don't think you'll be as easy to overlook as a collar and tie, and she's not deaf."

"Elsie, I was a butler; I can walk silently," he explained patiently, "It's one of the first rules of butlering."

"Butlering?" she snorted, holding back a laugh, "Is that even a word?"

"Of course it's a word," he answered, grinning, "Walking silently, pouring wine smoothly, standing in corners without being noticed, making love to beautiful former housekeepers. It all comes with the territory."

"Very well," she said, shaking her head in disbelief, "We'll give it a try, but you'd better not make so much as a squeak." She said the last poking him firmly in the chest.

He grasped the hand that was poking him and pulled her off balance and into his arms, "You'll not forget that you're to help me try out my bed tonight, will you?"

"Of course I'll not forget," she said, smiling against his chest, "It will be something to look forward to all day."

He bent to kiss her and smoothed his hands down to her bottom to draw her against him. When he released her, he paused to whisper in her ear, "Before you come to the tea room, you'd better put on a dress with a higher collar."

She turned to study her image in the mirror and gasped at the two small red marks on her neck, looking back at him accusingly. He just grinned and opened the door to usher her into the hall.

They were in luck. Beryl was in the kitchen fixing porridge and as far away from the back door as she could be while downstairs. Elsie took a deep breath before stepping forward, not making any effort at being quiet and speaking to Beryl as she walked down the stairs.

"Good morning," she asked, "Is your headache better?"

Charles waited just a moment at the top of the stairs before following Elsie silently.

Beryl answered, smiling conspiratorially, "You know as well as I do that there was no headache. I just wanted to give you some time alone with Charles. Did he stay very late?"

Charles admired the smoothness with which Elsie sidestepped the truth, "Not very. He was anxious to try out his new furniture."

Beryl snorted, "I think he'll need someone to help him try out one of those pieces of furniture."

He paused in picking his collar and tie from the banister to glance at Elsie who was looking back at him with a worried frown.

"Yes, well," Elsie answered with just the faintest higher pitch to her voice, "That will have to wait for a little while."

"Not too long, I hope," Beryl answered, "You're neither of you getting any younger."

Charles waited breathlessly for the explosion from the bottom of the stairs, deciding this might be the perfect diversion.

"Might I remind you, Beryl Patmore," Elsie said in a voice that chilled Charles to the bone, "that neither are you."

"No need to get your knickers in a twist," Beryl said and by this time Charles had reached the back door and was almost ready to breathe a sigh of relief.

"You needn't concern yourself with the state of my knickers," Elsie's words were getting more clipped, and she was now glaring at Beryl. This would definitely be the best time to leave.

Charles had the door open and was ready to step out when Beryl's voice stopped him, "Charles, aren't you going to stay to breakfast?"

_**Reviews are welcome as always. Sorry it's a bit predictable.**_


	9. Breakfast

_**Just a little fluff to take my mind off the trailer and speculation.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did it would be all fluff, rainbows, and blue bedroom. Also, likely very boring.**_

Charles was still stunned as he walked over to the table. He was not sure exactly what to do. What was the proper etiquette when caught sneaking out of one's lover's room? That thought brought a warm smile to his face, and he looked at Elsie, his lover. She was no longer just his dearest friend, his secret love, his future wife; she was his lover and he was hers. Nothing that happened this morning could take that away. He stepped over to the table and sat down, waiting for Beryl to do her worst.

Beryl's worst was apparently a bowl of porridge which she was prepared to set in front of him. Elsie, however, took the bowl from her hands.

"I believe our guest should have a full breakfast, don't you?" she asked the former cook primly.

Beryl snorted, "I'm sure he probably needs it."

Elsie's mouth dropped open, and Charles decided to step in before blood was drawn, "You heard me then?"

He really didn't want to think about exactly when and what Beryl might have heard. This conversation was going to be difficult enough as it was.

"No, I did not," Beryl answered forcefully, "Thank goodness, until you opened the door, of course."

"What gave him away?" Elsie asked quietly.

Beryl rolled her eyes, "Just because I'm nearly blind doesn't mean I'm completely daft. I almost tripped over his collar and tie on the stairs, and his coat was draped over the back of my chair. I knew he wouldn't have gone out without at least some of those items."

Charles scratched the back of his head. They really had taken leave of their senses last night to have left so many items of clothing lying about. He supposed it was a testimony to just how desperate he'd become over the last several weeks.

Elsie had put sausage into the pan and was now cracking two eggs. She was obviously planning on feeding him a hearty breakfast. He caught her eye and smiled broadly, thinking that he really must have made her happy last night, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she wanted to build his strength up for tonight. She rolled her eyes at him but smiled shyly back. His eyes traveled down her back when she turned from him, and he wondered briefly if Beryl would notice him kissing that spot behind Elsie's left ear.

Before he could rise and put his plan into action, Beryl cleared her throat to get his attention, "I was asking, Charles Carson, what are your intentions?"

Elsie set the spatula she was holding down a little more forcefully than she normally would and started to turn around. He spoke before she could open her mouth, "My intentions are what they have always been and are our concern not yours."

"Charles Carson is too much of a gentleman to toy with a woman's affections," Beryl said thoughtfully and pretended that it was to herself, tapping her chin, "It's obvious even to a blind woman like me that you love each other. This morning proves there's no lack of attraction. Why haven't you two married already?"

Elsie had finished his breakfast by this time and set it in front of him with a thump, nearly knocking one of the sausages into his lap. He gave her a sharp look, but she was concentrating on Beryl with a worried frown.

"Beryl," she began, but was cut off by nearly hysterical laughter from the cook.

"You're worried about me," she said, grinning now, "That's it, isn't it?"

Elsie sighed, "We wanted to wait until things were settled between Joseph and you."

Beryl continued to laugh, until Charles began to grow a little worried about her. He looked at Elsie with a puzzled frown, but she just shook her head. She obviously had no idea what Beryl was laughing about either. Maybe she was starting to go senile. That would set off a whole new series of problems for them.

Unable to completely concentrate on Beryl with the delicious plate sitting in front of him, his stomach growled loudly. Finally deciding that she was not going to either stop laughing or enlighten them anytime soon, he picked up his fork to begin eating. Last night had given him a rather large appetite after all, and he did want to keep his strength up for tonight. Elsie just lifted her eyebrow at him in surprise and shook her head in wonder. He wondered what she was puzzled about. Did she think he wasn't going to eat this large and delicious breakfast just because Beryl had gone insane?

Beryl finally calmed down enough to speak. "We've all been silly," she hiccupped. "You two were waiting on Joseph and me to settle things," here she broke down into laughter again for another moment, and Charles noticed that Elsie was just nibbling on a piece of toast. He caught her eye and slid one of the eggs and one of the sausages from his plate to hers. She needed to keep her strength up as well.

Beryl began again, "And for weeks we've been waiting for Charles to stop being such a stick in the mud."

"Me?" Charles asked, genuinely offended now, "I asked Elsie to marry me weeks ago, and she accepted. I'll have you know that for once it is not me who is being the reticent and slow one. When is Joseph going to do the proper thing and marry you?"

"I'll have you know, Charles Carson," Beryl said, sharply, all humor gone from her voice, "That Joseph Laughton asked me to marry him nearly a full month ago, and I accepted." She finished with a sharp nod.

"When exactly?" Elsie broke in with narrowed eyes.

"The night that we caught you two in flagrento," she mispronounced, "in the office. Really, Elsie, you must learn to keep such things away from the tea room."

"I'll thank you not to lecture me on appropriate behavior, Beryl Patmore," Elsie said sharply.

Beryl snorted, "Considering that I just caught a man sneaking out of your bedroom in the not so wee hours of the morning, you might need that lecture, Elsie Hughes."

Charles had the good grace to blush, and noticed that Elsie's cheeks were positively flaming. Beryl did have a point.

He cleared his throat to change the subject, "I think we're missing the key point which is that all four of us have been delaying our happiness for the past few weeks. Now, we are all free to proceed as we wish."

Beryl and Elsie both smiled, albeit a little reluctantly at his observation. Then Elsie brought up the next problem they needed to deal with, "In the meantime, how are we going to proceed to get you home without anyone noticing? It's full morning now."

Charles glanced out the window and shook his head. She was right. There was no way he was going to make it back to the tea room without likely meeting nearly half the village. He had come up with a possible solution while he'd been listening to Beryl's laughter and eating.

"Perhaps I just rose early and decided to go for a walk?" he said and Elsie actually sniggered. He looked over in annoyed astonishment having never thought to hear such a sound from her.

She smirked at him suggestively and said, "Well that would certainly be true."

He blushed furiously remembering his morning state and hoped that Beryl didn't pick up on Elsie's hint. She apparently didn't because she had her eyes closed in thought, "I suppose you could have stopped by to have breakfast as well. You have nearly every other meal here. It wouldn't be that unusual."

Reaching up to scratch his cheek, he realized why that particular plan would never work. No one would believe that he'd left his rooms without having shaved and looking down at his clothes, he realized that they were far too wrinkled for him to have put on fresh this morning.

Elsie caught his glance. "I could iron your trousers and shirt. You wouldn't look quite so much as if you'd been dragged through the bushes."

Beryl clicked her tongue, "I suppose you'll need to shave as well. There's a razor in my room. I can fetch it for you while Elsie heats the iron."

Charles turned his gaze sharply on Beryl in surprise and noticed that Elsie did the same. "Why do you have a razor and shaving things in your room?"

Beryl's face flamed a far deeper shade of red than her hair had ever been, and she spluttered, "I, I, um, I don't see that matters. Charles, you need to hurry if you're going to make this believable."

"When I went to visit my sister!" Elsie exclaimed, "You had him here when I went to visit my sister. Beryl Patmore! I thought Sally stayed with you."

Beryl rose nervously to carry her bowl to the sink, and Elsie met Charles's eyes in triumph.

"You did, didn't you?" she said, "And here you were scolding me for one night. How many times did Joseph stay if he left a razor here?"

Beryl was for once in her life completely speechless, and Charles couldn't contain his laughter any longer. She looked in his direction and likely would have thrown something at him if she could have been sure of her aim.

"That's enough of that, Charles Carson," she said, "or the whole village will know where you were last night before you're able to get out of this house."

Elsie just looked at her coolly, "How many nights Beryl?"

Beryl muttered something, and Elsie asked, "Beg pardon?"

"Three," Beryl spoke loud enough that Charles was afraid the neighbors would have heard.

"Three? I was only gone four nights."

Charles snorted and quipped, "Three? How did he manage that? I got caught after my first night. I need to ask him for some advice."

Beryl and Elsie both fixed him with a glare, and he decided that he really did need to find the razor so that he could be on his way.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	10. Visitors

_**The next installment. I'm not entirely happy with it but felt like I just needed to start writing again. **_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them and this is obviously very AU now that the first couple of episodes of Series 3 have aired.**_

Charles tugged nervously at the collar he'd just changed. He had made his way from Elsie's cottage to the tea room with a minimum of fuss and had only run into one person. Unfortunately that one person was the one he would have least liked to see him. T hinking back to that incredibly uncomfortable conversation, he wondered if anything in his manner had given away his overwhelming joy at the fact that he'd not spent the night in his own bed. He certainly hoped not. No matter his age, there were still things he didn't want everyone to know.

He was in the kitchen boiling water for a second cup of tea when the door cracked open and Elsie's head peeked around the edge. He smiled to welcome her and smiled even more when he realized that she was alone.

"Beryl didn't come with you?" he asked as she stepped into the room and smiled at him broadly while she removed her hat.

She shook her head slowly and with a predatory gleam to her eye, "No, she'll be coming in later with Sally. They had to order some baking supplies. She's trying to teach the girl how to keep a kitchen stocked."

"So we have a bit of time to ourselves," he said, smile starting to widen, "How long?"

"An hour at least, and I don't see how we could possibly open until our cook is here," she said, taking a step closer.

Charles took a large step toward her, "I suppose we should use this time to inventory or maybe prepare the fro…"

She interrupted him by grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down to her level so that she could kiss him hungrily.

He smiled against her lips, "Or I suppose I could show you our furniture."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," she said, returning his smile while she pushed him backward toward the stairs. He stumbled only once, but quickly righted himself. "One fall while doing this is quite enough."

She laughed and reached up to unravel his tie while he tugged at her blouse. They had just entered his rooms with most buttons undone and hooks unhooked when he remembered the pot of water still on the stove. For a moment, he thought about just letting it boil over but decided that the smoke that might ensue would probably attract far too much attention. Somehow the idea of the volunteer fire department breaking down the door to the kitchen while he was entrenched in bed with his lover was not the most appealing.

He made it down and then back up the stairs as quickly as his hip would allow. When he reached the door of his rooms, he paused to catch his breath and to watch Elsie who was looking slowly around his room. She looked up from her scrutiny of the items on his dresser to meet his eyes in the mirror.

"I've never known you to smoke," she said, indicating the pipe.

He shook his head, "I never have except for the one time when I was ten and made myself sick. That was my father's pipe. I can still smell his tobacco in it, although it's faint now."

She ran her hand over an empty space on the left side of the dresser. "Is this where my things will go?"

"I had thought that, yes," he answered, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, "Comb, brush, creams, whatever things women have."

She laughed shortly, "You make it sound like a great mystery."

"It is to me," he said, watching her eyes in the mirror before bending to whisper against her neck, "I have no idea what it will be like to live with a woman."

She scoffed and tilted her head to give him better access, "You've lived with dozens of women for years."

He snorted, "A gaggle of giggling maids behind a locked door is not quite the same as waking with a wife in my bed each day."

"Your bed?" she asked with arched eyebrow and turning to face him, "I thought it was to be our bed."

He arched his own brow at her, "That remains to be seen. You were to try it out first." Then he kissed her softly, running his tongue along the edge of her lower lip.

"Isn't that why we're here?" she asked, putting both hands on his chest and pushing him backward toward the bed.

"Is it?" he teased, "I thought I was just showing you our furniture. You haven't even seen my lovely desk over there."

She gave him another push, and the backs of his legs bumped against the bed causing him to sit down hard on the edge. In revenge, he pulled her with him, and they fell backward. Twisting so that they were on their sides, he bent his head to hers so that he could take his time exploring her mouth, nudging her lips apart with the tip of his tongue.

When she pulled away to draw a deep breath, he bent further so that he could lift her skirt. She protested, "Charles, it will be much easier to get my corset off if I stand up."

"You needn't take your corset off for what I intend," he said with a leering grin and pushed her skirt around her hips. He found the ribbon of her knickers with ease and had them down her legs in a moment. Frustrated when he reached her boots, he worked at the laces for a moment before getting them and the knickers successfully off.

Looking up at her with a satisfied smile, he tossed the knickers to the side before returning to his original goal. Hands on her knees to push them apart, he kissed her center softly and was pleased at her sharp intake of breath.

"Charles, is that prop…" The rest of her question was lost in a low moan as he nudged these lips apart with the tip of his tongue as well. He had every intention of exploring this part of her just as thoroughly as he had her mouth. Experimenting with slightly different strokes and varying depths, he listened carefully for the sharp intakes of breath or soft moans that indicated her pleasure. Soon, her thighs were trembling, and her hands were clutching at his shoulder and hair. She tensed and cried out his name. Continuing for a few more gentle laps at the swollen nub, he stopped when he felt her hips sink back to the bed.

Rising over her again, he smoothed the strands of hair that had worked their way loose away from her face. He laid his head on her shoulder and enjoyed the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breathing gradually slowed. She toyed with the curls on the back of his neck and said, "Don't you want more?"

"I will always want more of that, love," he answered and smoothed his hand down her side, "but we've a moment to let you rest. Do you think this bed will do?"

She smiled against his cheek, "I think we need to give it more of a proper trial."

"I thought the way to try it out was to not be proper at all," he said, rising on one elbow so that he could look down at her. He leaned forward to press his lips to hers and shifted so that his knee was between her thighs. Just when he was ready to start pushing his unfastened trousers down, he heard a loud banging sound. Puzzled, he pulled back and tried to think what could be making such a racket. Then he remembered his conversation of this morning and realized with a start that it was not a what but a who.

He jumped out of bed and winced when his hip caught. Elsie sat up straight and watched him with a worried frown as he stood leaning on the bedpost and catching his breath, "Charles? What on earth?"

"The vicar!" he said, "The bloo…," he caught himself before saying something he shouldn't and then explained in an irritated tone while he struggled to get shirt buttoned and scanned the room for his collar and tie, "It's the vicar come to talk to us about our wedding. I thought he'd come later today. Where's my… There it is!"

He scooped up collar and tie off the floor by his dresser and stepped over to the window to confirm that it really was the vicar at the back door.

"Why would the vicar be discussing our wedding now?" she asked, voice muffled while she looked for her boots and knickers.

Charles sighed. He should have told her this when she first walked through the door, but she had been distracting. "He saw me leaving your cottage this morning." She stopped her search and looked at him with wide eyes, no doubt remembering the goodbye she'd given him this morning.

He shook his head at her unspoken question, "I have no idea how much he saw, but we walked together for a bit. The conversation ended with me asking him to read the banns and him promising to come by later today to discuss the details with us."

By this time, he had his collar and tie on and was almost ready to go downstairs. He took another quick peek out the window to see if the vicar was still there since the knocking had ceased. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the man try the knob and then enter.

"For heaven's sake, the man's coming in! Didn't you lock the door?" he turned around accusingly and stalked over to the mirror to check that he was presentable. Quickly, he ran a comb through his hair and splashed water on his face to wash away Elsie's scent.

"Coming in? What right has he to do that?" she asked indignantly as she struggled into her boots.

Now was not the time to argue that point so he leaned toward her and hissed, "I don't know. Why don't you come down from my room with your dress unbuttoned and knickers in your hand to ask him?"

"Charles!"

He paused and took a deep breath, "I shall take him into the front room, and you can sneak down in a few minutes. Pretend you're just coming in for the day."

"Without my knickers in my hand, I suppose?" she asked.

He turned back to glare at her from the top step, "Preferably." A fter going down one or two more steps, he came back to say, "For now at least."

_**Reviews are as welcome as hugs.**_


	11. Planning

_**I'm finally getting back into the swing of writing. Sorry it's been so long between updates. I'll finish soon.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own them earn nothing from them.**_

"So the earliest date would be the 19th ?" Charles was asking Mr. Travis when Elsie stepped into the office.

The vicar jumped to his feet at her entrance and greeted her with only the faintest tinge of pink to his cheeks, "May I be the first to offer you the very best of wishes, Miss Hughes?"

She nodded speechlessly, surprised by how embarrassed she felt to be discussing plans for marrying Charles with a man who may or may not have seen her clinging to her lover like a brazen hussy this morning and very nearly caught them in an even more delicate situation just a few minutes ago. She glanced at Charles who was smiling smugly. Silly man. He needed to rein in that cat that got the cream smile before Mr. Travis guessed something. Vicar or not, he wasn't completely dense.

"Did you have a nice walk from the cottage, dear?" Charles asked in a voice that was just a little too casual.

She glared at him when Mr. Travis's head was turned, "Oh yes, the weather is turning lovely, isn't it?"

After a few awkward moments of everyone agreeing that the weather was indeed lovely although they perhaps could do with a bit more rain and some worry that the coming winter would be not be as mild as their last, they settled down once again to discuss the wedding.

The vicar explained, "Mr. Carson and I were just discussing dates. With the banns 19 June would be the earliest date. A Monday might not be the most usual day for a wedding, but the church would be free that morning if you wished it."

She nodded thoughtfully and wondered if her sister could make it on such short notice. While she was composing the shortest and most inexpensive telegram in her mind that would not cause Sarah to fall in a dead faint at the news, she nearly missed the vicar's next statement. He cleared his throat and repeated himself with a small smile and twinkling eyes, "I was saying, Miss Hughes, that I hope you weren't too chilly on your walk from the village since you must have left your coat and hat here yesterday."

She struggled to keep her mouth from gaping and in the moment that she was gathering her wits to comment, Charles, horrid liar that he was, unfortunately felt the need to fill the silence, "I have no idea what you mean."

Mr. Travis fixed his gaze on Charles, obviously singling him out as the weak link, "Mr. Carson, I saw Miss Hughes's coat as I came through the kitchen."

Charles coughed and the tips of his ears turned pink. Elsie wondered if Mr. Travis would notice if she brought her heel down on Charles's toe or elbowed him in the side to get him to shut up for goodness sake. She contented herself with glaring at him fixedly. He apparently didn't notice since he continued to dig a deeper hole, "Miss Hughes owns many coats. I'm sure she could have…"

She cut him off before he made the situation impossible, "Charles, dear, I'm afraid we're caught." Now it was Charles's turn to glare at her while she continued, "Mr. Travis, Mr. Carson was simply showing me his furniture so that we could make plans for the future. I have to admit that we were a bit embarrassed since technically we weren't chaperoned, but I'm sure you can see that at our age we felt that we might take the liberty."

Charles's eyes had grown progressively wider as she spoke and his mouth was nearly gaping by the end of her speech. Thankfully, he still had enough sense to snap the fly trap closed before the vicar turned back to him to look for confirmation. He merely smiled his assent and nodded ruefully, wisely for once remaining speechless.

Mr. Travis looked slowly from Charles back to her, but she merely maintained the most innocent and open expression she could manage. Charles swallowed convulsively and tugged at his collar but managed to do it only when the vicar's attention was on her.

After what seemed an eternity, the vicar moved on to discussing their plans for the wedding. She certainly wanted nothing special, just the vicar and the necessary witnesses were all they needed. Hearing and speaking the vows meant only for them after she had heard them so many other times for others was joy enough for her. If the truth were told, she didn't even want to close the tea shop that day, but Beryl would likely insist.

Charles was thinking aloud, "I certainly don't want to delay, but that will only give two weeks to plan a trip."

"Trip?" she asked, looking at him in surprise, "Where were you planning to go?"

He returned her look with the same surprise, "I just assumed that we'd go away, alone, together for a few days, dear." He emphasized the last word sharply.

She must have missed hearing the back door open because at that moment Beryl entered the office.

"Well, I certainly hope you two will be married before you go away together."

Elsie cringed and out of the corner of her eye she saw Charles's face flush scarlet. "Beryl, we were discussing our wedding plans with Mr. Travis."

"Oh, I see. Good morning Mr. Travis," Beryl said, slightly mollified before turning back toward her, "Well, when's it to be? I must start planning the cake, and I suppose you'll want a breakfast as well."

Elsie's eyes climbed to her hairline; she most certainly wanted no such thing. "That really won't be necessary…," she began but Beryl cut her off.

"Nonsense, it won't be a bit of trouble," she said, "I couldn't let my partner have a shoddy wedding could I?"

Charles seemed to pick up on how Elsie felt and said, "I don't think you understand, Miss Patmore…"

Then Sally came into the room and asked, "Did I hear Miss Patmore say wedding? Does that mean you and Miss Hughes are finally going to be married Mr. Carson? That's wonderful! Miss Hughes! I'm so happy for you! My sister is a fair hand with a needle and thread. You have to let us help you with your dress."

Elsie's mouth gaped, "But, we don't want…"

"That sounds lovely, Sally," Beryl cut her off again, "And I am sure that Molly and Anna won't mind helping with flowers. Little Gwen will look precious as your flower girl."

Mr. Travis rose at that point and excused himself, "I must be on my way. I am sure that we'll meet before then, but I'll put the 19th on my calendar."

"The 19th?" Beryl asked in surprise, "That won't leave me much time, will it? I need to start planning."

She and Sally followed the vicar through the door, leaving Charles and Elsie behind in the office to contemplate their fate.

Charles glanced over at her with an apologetic smile, "Things are getting rather out of hand, aren't they?"

"They are," she nodded, "I suppose it's too late to run to Gretna Green?"

He laughed, "I think it would be, and we'd still have to wait for the banns. Besides, Beryl would never forgive us."

"There is one consolation, of course," she said thoughtfully.

He narrowed his eyes at her, "And that would be?"

"Beryl will marry after us," she said, "Whatever she does; we can return double-fold."

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_.


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